


Suis-je un humain?

by xziris



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Identity Issues, M/M, Primarily prose, Projection fic, Wrote this when I was sick, lil hurt/comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:02:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26305312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xziris/pseuds/xziris
Summary: ‘Who was he? Simmons wasn’t entirely sure he had the credentials to answer. Was he human or a machine? He hadn’t the credentials to answer that, either.’
Relationships: Dexter Grif/Dick Simmons
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	Suis-je un humain?

The only light in the room was the glow from the LED contraptions that scattered Simmons’ limbs. At dusk, or maybe at twilight, he stared at the ceiling as his mind did loops over itself, hand outstretched to find Grif’s. In the darkness of their room, his chest tight. Silence, low and hungry, filled his ears. A buzz, static on a stormy night, one where he would have held his brothers close to him and assure them that they were okay. Hums of internal fans, slow sparks of artificial organs that he knew were working away at him.

Who was he? Simmons wasn’t entirely sure he had the credentials to answer. Was he human or a machine? He hadn’t the credentials to answer that, either. What makes a human? Love? Compassion? Hope? He didn’t quite know. If they were the qualifications, then Simmons had only ever met one human in his life. Was humanity the way you smile in the morning? Small things such as clasping a lover’s hand in the lowlight of dawn, rubbing your thumb over their insecurities?

No. Humanity was a word that met Simmons’ throat and lodged there, blocking his breath as he begged to sigh. Release the tension that worked his stomach, a pit, shallow. Humanity was intricate, unique to the human who encompassed it. Humanity was Grif making the same sandwich every breakfast, or Sarge only having to look at an appliance to break it. There was not a single thing about him, the current version of him, that Simmons could pin down as humane. Once, he would pluck the strings of a guitar while the words strung on the spot would knot and tie in the air. Once, he would compliment the birdsong as he walked the hills of Ireland even if he trekked alone.

It was a mockery of who he was, to be so much more concerned about the blatantly inhuman aspects of his character than he was about the organic tissue that he had taken for granted. All these years of a broken, rusted body have led to a total neglect of what he once called himself. So many thoughts, even if his mind was but binary and cyanide. A stubborn poison on the rest of his body, which didn’t need more abuse. Acid dissolved metal, and he had plenty.

“Am I human?” He asked to nobody in particular, though there was only one other person in the room. For just a moment, the silence became ravenous. Devouring any modicum of noise that dared spark. Then, it was cut short by a unfortunate groan, and an arm collapsed upon Simmons’ stomach, alarmingly warm.

“I don’t think so. But who cares? Nobody’s classed as just ‘human’, dude. Hell, I don’t like you ‘cause you’re human. You’re just Simmons, and that’s good enough for me.”

Good enough. As a smile crept upon his lips, and a metal hand wrapped another, he decided to take it. Simmons could deal with good enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Posted this to my tumblr (xziris) a while ago, and I found it in my notes so here we go! Felt bad about writing for another fandom, weirdly. ):


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